Despite
the triumph of immigrants more often than not whenthey finally "arrive"
their luggage is not with them. I hope that the story below
will help to motivate the reader to pick up a fewof these stories
from the pages and give them life. Just thinkwhat might happen
to you if you had a story!

There
was a man one time, and his name was Rory O' Donoghue. His wife was
a great woman for knitting stockings, and Rory's job ws to go from town
to town, selling them. There was to be a fair in Macroom on a certain
day, and Rory left home the evening before with his bag of stockings to
sell them at the fair next day. Night came on him before he reached
the town. He saw a light in a house at the roadside, and he went
in. There was no one inside before him but a very old man.
"You're welcome, Rory O'Donoghue," said the old man. Rory asked him
for lodgings for the night and told him that he was on his way to the fair
at Macroom. The old man said he could stay and welcome. A chair
that was at the bottom of the kitchen moved up toward the fire, and the
old man told Rory to sit on it. "Now," said the old man, "Rory
O'Donoghue and myself would like to have our supper." A knife and
fork jumped up from the dresser and cut down a piece of meat that was hanging
from the rafters. A pot came out of the dresser, and the meat hopped
into it. Up rose the tongs that were at the side of the hearth; they
pulled out some sods of turf and made a fire. down jumped the hangers and
hooked the pot over the fire. A bucket of water rose up, and water
was poured over the meat. The cover jumped onto the pot. A wicker
work sieve filled itself with potatoes, threw them into the bucket of water,and
washed them. The potatoes then rose up and went into a second pot.
The knife and fork went up to the first pot and the lid rose up.
Up came a plate from the dresser. The knife and fork took out the
meat from the pot and put it on the plate. The hangers took the pot
of the fire and hung the pot of potatoes on it. When the potatoes
were boiled, they strained off thee water into the sieve. A tablecloth
spread itself on the table. Up rose the sieve and spread the potatoes
out on the table. The plate of meat j umped onto the table and so
did two other plates as well as two knives and forks. A knife and
fork cut the meat into two portions nd put some on each plate. "Get
up, Rory O'Donoghue," said the old man. "Let us start eating!"
When they had eaten their supper, the tablecloth rose up and cleared off
what was left into a bucket. Rory and the old man rose from
the table and sat at either side of the fire. Two slippers came up
to Rory O'Donoghue and two others to the old man. "Take off your
shoes, Rory, and put on those slippers," said the old man. "Do you
know, Rory, how I spend my nights here? I spend one-third of each
night eating and drinking, one-third telling stories or singing songs,
and the last third sleeping. Sing a song for me now, Rory."
"I never sang a song in my l ife", said Rory. "Tell a story, then."
"I never told a story of any kind," said Rory. "Well, unless you tell a
story or sing a song, you'll have to go off out the door," said the old
man. "I can't do any of the two," said Rory. "Of out the door with
you, then Rory stood up and took hold of his bag of stockings. No
sooner had he gone out than the door struck him a blow on the back.
He went off along the road, and he hadn't gone very far when he saw the
glow of a fire by the roadside. Sitting by the fire was a man, who
was roasting a piece of meat on a spit. "You're welcome, Rory
O'Donoghue," said the man. "Would you mind, Rory, taking hold of
this spit and turning the meat over the fire? But don't let any burnt patch
come on it. " No sooner had Rory taken hold of the spit than the
man left him. Then the piece of meat spoke. "Don't let my whiskers
burn," it shouted. Rory threw the spit and the meat from him, snatched
up his bag of stockings, and ran off. The spit and the piece of meat
followed him, striking Rory O'Donoghue as hard as they could on the back.
Soon Rory caught sight of a house at the side of the road. He opened
the door and ran in. It was the same house he had visited earlier,
and the old man was in bed. "You're welcome, Rory O' Donoghue,"
said the old man. "Come in here to bed with me.." "Oh, I couldn't,"
said Rory. "I'm covered with blood!" "What happened to you
since you left here?" asked the old man. "Oh, the abuse I got from a piece
of meat that a man was roasting by the roadside," said Rory. " He asked
me to turn the meat on the spit for a while, and 'twasn't long till the
meat screamed at me not to burn its whiskers. I threw it from me,
but it followed me, giving me every blow on the back, so that I'm
all cut and bruised." "Ah,Rory," said the old man. "If you
had a story like that to tell me, when I asked you, you wouldn't have been
out until now. Lie in here on the bed now, and sleep the rest
of the night."Rory
went into the bed and fell asleep. When he awoke in the morning,
he found himself on the roadside, with his bag of stockings under his head,
and not a trace of a house or dwelling anywhere around him.To the top of this sectionReturn to the Main
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